


Light In The Hallway

by Bumblehigh07



Category: RWBY
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, More characters to be added, More tags to be added, Origin Story, Other, Poverty, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumblehigh07/pseuds/Bumblehigh07
Summary: So Count Your Blessings Everyday. It Makes The Monsters Go Away. And Everything Will Be OkayGood People Do Bad Things For All The Right Reasons. That's What They Tell Themselves To Keep Going.





	Light In The Hallway

What was that old saying, that desperation makes good people do bad things? He did not like to think himself a desperate man _anymore._ But he knew he was a bad man. He knew of the person he had become and he knew that if his younger self were to look at him now, his few questions would be _How? Why?_

How was easy. How he became scum of the Earth was simple. _She_ had graced him with her presence and the sickly promises that rolled off her serpent tongue like velvet and tasted like honey. In hindsight, it had been poor judgement on his part, and all manipulation on hers. He was stuck and had talents and she needed him.

...

She had said she needed him.

As for Why? Why was much more complicated. Why would he drag his name and reputation through the mud? Why stain himself so much till even he was unrecognizable to his own eyes? Why become the villain?

Why?

Because the world was a cruel place and took little pity to those who could not make it through traditional means. It left millions of people behind everyday and showed no mercy. You were to play the cards you were dealt, and if he knew one thing about card games, it was that there was always someone who had an Ace up their sleeve. So eventually, you have to ask yourself: Are you holding the Ace Or are you going to get fucked over with everyone else?

Roman had decided long ago that he would hold the Ace.

However the world went far past mere gambling metaphors. Before he was who he is now, he had actually been _something_ to _someone._ He liked to think he still was. He liked to think he had once been a good man. Someone worth knowing.

Now?

Now he was lucky he didn't get Mauled by the Faunus he had surrounded himself with everyday. Not because he had wanted to. But because _She_ told him to. Because _She_ needed him to and he bent over backward for her will because he _had_ needed to. Before. He was indebted to her, much as he hated to admit. When she came into his life he had been living in the shit part of Vacuo under a roof that leaked with every storm, two kids he was barely able to support, and a rent bill that went further passed due every day.

Then she had waltzed in, in her heels and scarlet dress, and she had made him a deal. She promised him work and money, more than he could ever know what to do with. She promised him his kids would never have to go hungry again and that they would never be cold. Back then he had asked for time to think on the decision.

_**"I don't think they can wait much longer, Roman."** _

he liked to think there was a point where he had been redeemable. Where he could still have been a good man worth the family he was trying to keep together. But then there were casualties and people began to get hurt. People began to die. He knew then, he could never go back to being a good man. His hands were stained with the blood of so many innocent people and just thinking about it sometimes made him sick. So he would pull on the gloves and he would pretend that the man who he is was always him. That he enjoyed watching people get hurt, and even more so be the one who did the hurting.

At some point he could have been rectified. His actions could have been justified by some long and very thin stretch. He was a single father looking for a way out who turned to less than honorable solutions. Then perhaps someone would have looked on in pity. Pity for the man who was trying his best. Now, all he would ever get is scorn. He knew far too late that he had dug his own grave and soon he would be lying in it.

Roman had long since made his bed, and he was tired of fighting off the inevitable.

He'd made his choice. Now he was going to face the consequences like a fucking man.

Not for himself.

But for them...

The Evening chill bit him through the ragged fabric of his coat and scarf, his breathing coming out in a soft white puff as he burrowed his face deeper into the wrapping. He hated Winter and the Maiden that brought it with her. He hated how everything died with the cold, shriveled and dried out til it was a husk. He hated the barely-there daylight hours and too long nights. He hated the rosiness it brought to his cheeks and nose.

But most of all-

"Daddy?" The small voice brings him out of his bitter thoughts and he looked down, to one of two small children by his side. Each wrapped in their own shabby coats and neck scarves. The younger of the two, his son, sniffed and looked up at from behind his bangs. His hair had already outgrown his hat.

"Daddy, are we almost home? I'm cold." The words made his stomach pinch and curl as he sighed, moving his scarf out of the way so he could speak properly to the boy.

"I know, Bud. We're almost home. Just a few more blocks, okay?" The boy sniffed again and nodded, reaching back up and taking his father's hand. His other one was locked tightly with his sister's as she tried to keep up with their father's long strides. He tried to make sure neither were behind him at all times when walking. They lived in a neighborhood as bad as their clothing quality.

The job at the docks had been the first one he managed to snag in months, even if it paid next to nothing and he was behind on rent. Again. He could not leave the kids home alone again, not after the Landlord had come by to speak to the neighbor and had heard the children playing across the hall.

The last thing he needed to worry about was Child Services.

He quickens his strides, only so he could get his children out of the cold as quickly as he could. He does not need Lilas also catching something, even if he was sure she already had. The run-down building their apartment lay wasting away in was an insult. It originally had five stories, however the fifth one had since caved in on itself and was left abandoned. The staircase leading up to it had been closed off for as long as he could remember. However, the plumbing hadn't been shut off and every Winter the upstairs apartments always flooded at some point because the pipes burst.

It was one of the few reasons why he was glad they were only on the second floor.

He pushed open the double doors with a grunt, the hinges screaming after so many years of going without greasing. Then he shoved them closed after the kids were inside. Even inside four walls he could still see his breath. Once again, the Landlord had not turned on the heat in the building. He muttered a curse under his breath.

Hand in hand in hand they trudged up the rickety old stairs that threatened to break under some poor fool's weight some day. He could only pray they held up long enough to not break under one of his kids. He let go of his son's hand to dig in his pocket for the keys, never noticing the neon pink slip of paper until it slammed him in the face with its big bold letters. He felt his gut drop.

"Oh no. No no no!" He ripped it off the door, eyes darting back and forth over the slip. He swore and crumbled it, gritting his teeth as he jammed the key into the tumbler and turned, shoving the door open and storming inside. He pulled the chain to the shitty lamp in the kitchen, throwing his coat to the ground and slamming his hands on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses left there from breakfast.

"Damnit!"

The door clicking softly as it closes has him looking back, to the two kids huddled by the door with their too big coats draped over their too small frames.

Two kids whose idea of Home was something nonexistent at this point.

He straightens with an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his hair and moving his bangs out of his face. At this point he should really consider just cutting them off. It would save him the hassle.

"Who's hungry?" He isn't sure what he can scrape together. There was hardly enough in the building to even feed a rat. But if there was one thing he promised himself when things first began going bad, it was that he would always feed them. Even if he had to persevere through his own hunger.

He figured tossing a little bit more water into the soup could tide them over for the rest of the week, taking down the box of matches in the cabinet to light the stove with.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Bud?"

"What does.. e..evi.." He turned to see his youngest bent over the table, having smoothed out the notice on the table and attempting to read it. He immediately felt his gut give way again, throat closing up as his daughter stepped in.

"Eviction. Iggy, it says eviction."

"Oh. Whadas that mean, Dad?" The boy looked up at him. He forgot about the box of matches he had been holding, the cardboard crushing under his grip until he forced himself to relax and set it down. Then he went and sat in the open chair at the table next to his son.

"Well, eviction means.." He trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck, gnawing the inside of his cheek as he tried to phrase it right. But it seemed his kids were two steps ahead of him.

"It means we have to move again." The sadness in his boy's voice gripped his heart in a vice and he swallowed forcibly, his tongue suddenly going dry as his eyes became misty.

"Hey, don't think like that. Okay? We'll be alright. What's the family motto, huh?"

In unison the two answered, "We protect our own." He grinned and ruffled both heads of ginger and lilac-colored hair as he chuckled.

"That's what I like to hear."

He rose back up and went back to the task of warming and thinning out whatever he could of the pot of soup they had in the fridge. Their neighbor up the hall, Mrs. Rosenburg, was the only good cook in the entire building. She was also a widow who had lost her Son to a gang war, and pitied his ass to the point where it was pathetic. But he would never say he wasn't grateful for her when she brought over that big pot one day.

It was one of the few days when they had actually eaten well.

He focuses on the dishes afterward, trying to use as little dish soap as possible, but still trying to ensure his kids weren't going to catch anything because he was stingy with the detergent. When they were done he opened the kitchen window and dug in his pockets again. He found the crushed carton of cigarettes and tapped one out, striking a match and lighting up. He took a long drag, holding in the smoke til it burned then blew it out the window.

This would be the third apartment in a month that he hadn't been able to keep up with. Each one he rented out was in worse condition than the last. This place at least had the kids in their own room. But it would have been nice to not have to worry about them getting Tetanus. His eyes land on the notice, his jaw tightening as acid bubbled on the back of his tongue. He crumbled up the flyer before tossing it out the window and into the bitter night. Fuck eviction notices. Fuck Landlords. Fuck shitty apartments on shitty sides of town.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, white-knuckling the counter as his thoughts and stomach churned. It was not like he had not thought of taking the easy way out before. He could take his son out into the living room, smother him with a pillow in there so he did not wake his sister. Then he would do the same with her before biting a bullet himself.

He quickly shook the thoughts away, grabbing onto the counter and gritting his teeth. "Get a fucking grip," he snarled. He would not do that. He would never do anything to put his kids' lives at risk.

The soft knock at the door had him freezing. His blood ran cold in his veins. Shit. That must have been the landlord coming to kick them out early. It had to have been.

But if it had been, the bitch wouldn't have given a damn if his kids were asleep. She would have just pounded on the door til evidently he opened up. He snubbed out his smoke and tossed the filter out the window before moving. He did not unhook the bolt, just opened the door to peer out through the small crack it allowed. What he saw was -- a woman. A rather beautiful one with raven hair, and golden eyes and swooping neckline dress the perfect shade of red for her.

He blinked. "Sorry, Miss. Think you have the wrong address."

Her soft laughter was like velvet. "I doubt it. Are you Roman?"

"That depends on who's asking."

The woman moved her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear and smiling. "I don't mean to cause, Torchwick. I'm here because I want to be business partners." He looked her up and down once more, frowning before looking at her again.

"No thanks. I'm not that kind of guy."

"That's not the kind of business I'm in," She said, a scowl pulling at her pretty features. "Open the door, Roman. Let's talk."

Against his better judgement, he closed the door and unlocked the deadbolt and chain before allowing this strange, alluring woman into his piss poor home. Where his kids slept not twenty feet away. She strolled in almost carefully, her heels clicking softly as she looked around.

"Well. This is.. Decrepit." Roman mumbled a thanks as he closed the door.

"So what kind of business are you in?"

"A sort of trade, if you will," She says as she turns. "You have talents that I want to put to good use." There is an itch crawling up his neck that he ignores as he narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm offering a bigger, better job opening that will allow you to bring home something more than change."

"What is it?"

She smirks. "I understand you're a man who can get information and supplies. Supplies that I will need in my end game." Finally he shakes his head and she blinks before frowning. "What?"

"I'm not a thief. Sure, I stole a fruit or two but that was because I was desperate."

"And you aren't desperate now?" She asked. He felt his nails digging into his palm as he clenched his fists.

"I don't need your charity," He hissed. "I don't need any-"

"You _do_ need money," She purrs and he freezes. She reached into the pouch on her hip, pulling out several cards. Her smirk only grew when she saw the way he stared at the credits. "Here are your options, Torchwick." She sat down on the poor excuse for a sofa, the money on the coffee table in front of her as she crossed a leg over the other. "You do this for me, and I can get you a place far from here. You wouldn't ever have to worry about money again. Or, I can leave and you continue on with this pathetic life. What will it be, Roman?"

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to grab the money on the table. It would certainly solve a lot of problems, and she seemed to know it. But going to that bottom-feeder lifestyle he had was something that made him want to vomit. It was a lifestyle that was hard enough to get out of. He was not sure he could do it. He may have been a gambling, but even he knew there were bets you just did not take.

He sighed. "Can I get a few days to think about this?"

The woman hummed, fingers interlocked on her knee and head tilted. "I don't think they can wait much longer, Roman." Every muscle on him went stiff as the words hit him and he glanced back behind her.

"How did you-"

"I know many things about you. Just like how I know no wants to hire a single father. Look at yourself; You're twenty-seven, with two kids, and you're barely managing." She stands, her body moving like water as she came close and drew her hand up his arm. "Do this for me, and I promise you your children will never know what's it's like to go hungry ever again. And their poor daddy won't have to skip meals just to keep them fed either."

He looked back to the money but the woman, who smelled like smoke and flames, tilted his head back by her hand on his chin. Then he's looking in bright golden eyes.

"What will it be, Roman?" She asked again.

His stomach flipped over on itself. But he already knew the answer.

"Fine. What do you need me to do?"

Her smile reminded him too much of a serpent.


End file.
